


And nothing but the truth

by JaqofSpades



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: 60 Moods of Summer, Multi, incest warning, mood: taboo, power games, underage squick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-14 20:26:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7188839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaqofSpades/pseuds/JaqofSpades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Charlie is more Charlie than ever,” Bass wrote, and Miles can’t tell if he’s reading between the lines, or embroidering desperately to fit his fantasies.  The ones he hasn’t dared share with Bass yet, but knows he will.  Soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Forbidden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hayj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayj/gifts).



> This started life as a Kink Your Revolution fill, but it took on new life once I structured it around the 60 Moods of Summer prompts, Forbidden, Bare, Russian Roulette, Sunshine, Strawberries, Sparring, Lust, Abandon and Our Truth. But it's still pretty kinky, playing with the attraction of the taboo, and so be warned for underage AND incest squick, and two not-so-vaguely predatory Generals.

He’s been longing for home for months, but in the end, it’s a stray line in an otherwise boring letter that pulls him away from the front.

“Charlie is more Charlie than ever,” Bass wrote, and Miles can’t tell if he’s reading between the lines, or embroidering desperately to fit his fantasies.  The ones he hasn’t dared share with Bass yet, but knows he will.  Soon.

Because she’s sixteen years old. _Just_ sixteen, as they’re always reminding each other. The apple of her Daddy’s eye, and her Mother’s worst nightmare.  She’s a crack shot, and an accomplished swordswoman, and will head up her own unit of the Militia one day. A Matheson from toes of her scuffed boots to the tips of her long, blonde mane, she is more wild than she is tame, and as predatory as any big cat.

Charlie Matheson gets what she wants, exactly how she wants it.  And she’s always loved Bass, and made sure the whole world knew it, and hardly anyone would bat an eyelid if the President chose to secure his line by marrying the General’s pretty little niece.

But their citizens don’t know that President and his Commanding General keep connecting rooms but rarely ever use both beds.  They don’t know that Miles conquered half the continent as a lover’s gift, and Bass chooses to rule only because he promised Miles he would.

Only a select few know about the girls they share, and how lately, all those sweet young whores have been a particularly variety of sunkissed blonde.  How Miles tells them not to speak, and to face the wall.

Because they’re close.  So, so close to falling, and no one knows just how taboo this May to December love affair has the potential to be.

Except Charlie.  Charlie knows.  Charlie had bowed her head, and thought about it, brilliant eyes hidden under the fall of multihued hair.  Chewed on her lip, then looked up.

“I think I knew, already.  I think – I’m glad you love each other.  I’m glad you have each other like that.  I just- I wanted … and I thought Bass…”

Bass had fallen to his knees in front of the couch and lifted her chin to look into his eyes.  “We love you, Charlie.  We’ve loved you since the day we were born,” he’d vowed.  “If things were different …”

Miles knows he should have left it there, but when Charlie scrunched up her face, her teenage pride obviously hurt, he’d blundered ahead anyway.

“You’re only a child, Charlie.  We’re trying to remember that.”

He knows he’s been snared when she tilts her head and roasts him with the full effect of knowing blue eyes.

“Don’t you mean, Bass is trying to remember that?”

But he’s never lied to Charlie and he doesn’t intend to start now.  He meets her stare with a shrug she can decode however she likes.

Two days later he’d left for the front and discovered she interpreted it exactly right. They say their farewells in the privacy of his study, and she’s breathing hard by the time he finishes kissing Bass goodbye.

When she leans up to place her lips against his cheek, he hugs her close and breathes her in.  Then her lips open against his skin and she’s trailing them down, down … to catch the corner of his mouth, tasting and probing with a quick flick of her tongue.

Can she taste Bass, he wonders, or is it his own flavour she’s looking for?  The combination?  His cock stirs at the thought, and he sets her away from him before his perversion makes itself known.

She’s too young.  His niece.  Even in their tinpot empire, it’s totally forbidden.

If only Mathesons could bring themselves to care about such things.


	2. Bare

“What did you mean about Charlie?”

Bass throws his head back against the sofa and groans.  “Fuck, Miles.  Our little talk didn’t seem to slow her down any.  If anything, she’s turned things up a notch.” 

His mouth waters as he remembers that goodbye kiss, and all the conclusions that could be drawn from her continued attempts at seducing Bass.  But they still haven’t talked about the dilemma Charlie poses for them, and maybe this is his chance.  He tiptoes.

“Your basic Matheson stupid?”

His lover’s throaty chuckle goes straight to his cock.  “Nope. More like your basic Matheson genius.  She’s running a fucking campaign.”  Bass shoots him a sideways glance, then throws back a gulp of whiskey.  “It’s making me all sorts of stupid.”

Miles puts his own glass on the coffee table and sits sideways to run his hand through Bass’ close-cropped curls.    “Yeah? How stupid?’ 

Bass grabs his other hand and pulls it to the increasingly impressive bulge in the front of his pants. He groans as Miles strokes him to full hardness, then confesses.  “That stupid.  And then some.”

He wants to ask, but he wants to get Bass out of his uniform more, fingers unbuckling and then pulling at the wide military belt as Bass attacks his top half, jacket buttons and then the shirt underneath, pressing hot kisses to every freshly exposed patch of skin.

Then the clock on the mantle strikes ten o’clock, and Bass’ cock lengthens with every chime.  Miles laughs, and is about to pull him out of his boxers to reacquaint himself with the way his lover tastes, when Bass blurts: “She’ll come in to say goodnight, soon.”

Odd segue, Miles thinks, until Charlie floats into the room.

She pounces on him in a cloud of something white and filmy.  “Uncle Miles!  You’re back!” 

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

Because she’s been coming to say goodnight since she was knee-high, but that was in flannel pajamas and something thick and warm, not a long, floaty robe that is open above a night dress so fine he can see the pink bumps on deliciously pouting nipples. He stretches up to tug the robe closed, only to be captured in the circle of her arms, breasts crushed against his chest as she crawls into his lap, twitching her ass about to find a comfortable spot.

Bass has closed his fingers about her ankle, and maybe he’s trying to help, trying to get her off him, but whatever he’s doing seems to be making her fucking _purr_.  She’s rubbing against him like a cat, too, raking her fingers through his chest hair, raining kisses on his neck. 

“We missed you so much,” she mumbles, and Miles tries not to blink too hard at ‘we’.  Tries not to notice how Bass is stroking her back now, soft, teasing touches that come with a fraction of an inch of sliding down over her ass.

Her joy in seeing him was innocent, he tells himself, and he needs to handle this delicately, even as the heat of her body scorches him through the deliciously thin cotton.  Even as her breasts bounce in front of his face as she lifts her hands to mess up his hair, tugging at the short strands.

“This?  It was a birthday present from President Foster – the finest cotton from Georgia, remember?” she smiles so sunnily that he can pretend he doesn’t see the mischief sparking in her eyes. “You like?”

Maybe she doesn’t realise that being her uncle doesn’t make him immune to her.  Maybe she can’t feel him hardening underneath her ass every time she squirms.  Maybe –

She shifts, knees splaying a little, and that’s all it takes to settle his cock somewhere so warm and wet it registers through the fine wool of his uniform pants.

His pulse spikes and his brain drops into his balls as the realisation hits.  She’s bare.  She’s completely bare underneath the nightdress and he needs, he needs --  he bucks upwards, failing in his bid to dislodge her.  (Burying himself deeper, uniform or no.)

Charlie’s moan is long and carnal, a hungry sound utterly drenched with need. She shudders around him, and his brain flicks through an increasingly pornographic reel of all the things that could happen next: this girl, stretched out naked across both of them, transparent excuse for a nightgown discarded on the floor.  Paddling her sweet ass for daring to walk in on them, while Bass pushes that tempting red mouth down over his cock.  Pulling her into back into his lap, this time with nothing between them so that Bass could worship her ass with fingers and tongue and cock as Miles surrendered to the grip of her ridiculously tight pussy.

Virgin pussy, something inside him howled.  Mine.

His cock pulses with the fury of it, the need to spend inside of her, to bury his seed deep.  She responds with a wail, and he realises she’s grinding hard, taking the pleasure he hadn’t yet decided to give.  Bass is watching them, unashamedly working his cock, and Miles is going to fucking burst if he doesn’t …

“Get out.”

His voice nearly cracks under the strain, and she ignores him at first, head thrown back, biting at her lip as her orgasm approaches.  Panic bites down hard – watching her come just might be his undoing – so he lifts her off him, hands gripping her ass convulsively.  Maybe his fingers slide a little in the moisture between her thighs, and maybe the pad of his thumb grazes over her pouting clit in passing, but so be it. He still lifts her away, and stumbles towards the door to hold it open for her.

Her blue eyes take a few long seconds to regain focus, but slide from Mediterranean blue to icechips soon after. “Sorry, Uncle Miles. I didn’t mean to interrupt. Welcome home.” 

It’s far from the apology it purports to be, he knows.  The defiance flaring in her eyes warns him to expect the body blow, and when it comes, it’s just as vicious as he fears.

“Guess I’ve gotten too used to Uncle Bass’ version of good night.”  


	3. Russian Roulette

They fence for a while, discussing Georgia’s supply chain problems, the chaos fomenting on the Plains, the talk of a rebellion in Texas.  But they both know it is mere prevarication, the empty chambers clicking ominously in a round of conversational roulette.

But _fuck_ conversation.  Miles ambles over to the sideboard to find his favorite bottle of whiskey, and comes back with his gun.  “How long?” he demands, tapping it in the centre of Bass' ridiculously unlined forehead.

Bass sits completely still, lest the cold circle of metal drift anywhere else.  They’d agreed, once, that this would be how it ended if things went south – a clean shot to the head by the aggrieved party.  There was nothing that could make them want to see the other in pain.

Except this, maybe.

“Were you planning it all along?  That old chestnut - send the schmuck off to war and fuck the girl while he’s gone?  The teenager you’ve known since she was a baby?  _My_ Charlie?”  His voice shakes, even if his hand doesn’t, jealousy and hypocrisy curdling together on his tongue.

Bass knows it, too. He won’t give even him the courtesy of being truly scared - careful, yes, wary, but too much understanding lurks in that blue gaze for real deference.

“Go on, then.  Shoot.  If that’s what you really want,” Bass grits out.  One hand comes up to close around Miles’ gun hand, pushing it harder into his forehead.  “Or since you’ve obviously don’t trust me anymore, why not shoot me right in the heart?”

Miles doesn’t have the strength to resist as Bass pushes his hand down, retargeting the gun on his chest.  Killshot, yes, but a messy one.  The heart might stop instantaneously, but the brain could be slower to catch up.  Could register the shot, remark on the pain.  Grieve.

Watching Bass die would kill Miles quicker than it would Bass, he has to accept.  He does trust him, that’s the kicker, enough to know that if Bass did fuck Charlie, he’d tried not to.  Or …

“Why’d you do it?”

Bass leans up into the gun, letting go of the cold steel to run his hands up and down Miles’ arms, then letting his fingers rake down the long muscles of his lover’s back.  “You know why, Miles.  She’s like an oncoming train, heading for the bridge in the dark. Sooner or later, we were gonna crash.  I just … slowed her down some.”

“How, exactly?”

Bass bites his lip and Miles doesn’t miss the long, slow blink as he savours the thought.

“She needed to let off steam.   I showed her a few things that could help, is all.”

“I’m guessing you’re not talking fresh air and exercise.”

“Well, I did take her on a picnic.  But it probably wasn’t the fresh air that got her to sleep that night,” Bass confesses, abandoning all pretence of regret. 

Miles can’t help but adore that sensual grin, skirting his thumb over that full bottom lip, then letting it wander to the lushness inside.  Bass latches on with a groan, sucking hard, and the gun travels further south, stroking the rapidly swelling contours of his errant cock.

“What did you do to her, Bass?”

“I told her stories, Miles.  Stories of us.  And she--”

“Stories of when we were kids, or the war stories?  She shouldn’t have to hear that stuff.”

“We weren’t talking about the battles, Miles.  Except I did tell her about South Bend.  How we were so fucking horny afterwards we dismissed the whole platoon and fucked for three days straight.  And New Orleans.  That girl who crept into our room and begged us to liberate her asshole as well as her pussy.  Charlie loved that one.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph.   You told her dirty stories.  About us. But that’s all?”

“I may have helped her put them into context a little.  Why certain things can be fun.  What pussy tastes like.  How you like to be sucked.”

He doesn't have to use his imagination to know exactly how that went.  A little show-and-tell, given Charlie's demonstration this afternoon.  Bass would spin filthy fairytales in that velvet rasp voice, and Charlie would help herself to an orgasm or six.  Maybe.

“But you didn’t fuck her?”

“No, Miles.  I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Relief forces air back into his lungs with all the impact of a punch.  But Bass isn’t finished.

“I told her that we had an agreement – nobody on the side.  You want to know what she said to that?”

All Miles can do is nod.

“She’ll be in the middle, thank you very much.”


	4. Sunshine & Strawberries

Breakfast is an ordeal of mythic proportions, even before word of the General’s return makes its way out into the city.  Neville and Faber are the first to arrive, and Miles is still trying to fend them off when Bass rolls in, half-buttoned shirt showing off the row of bitemarks along his collarbone. 

He’s all sleepy-eyed and satisfied, and when their eyes meet, Miles knows he’s not the only one replaying every detail of their long, torrid night together.   The lovesick fool actually blushes, the betraying wash of pink reminding him of how Bass had looked flushed with arousal, cock rigid against his belly, tied to the four corners of the big Presidential bed.  He is suddenly grateful to be sitting down, even if he does choke on a careless gulp of coffee.

Neville and Faber don’t even notice, so agog are they at the chain of bruises decorating the President’s neck.  It’s the highlight of his morning, the way those the two unctuous bureaucrats jump when he catches them exchanging scandalised looks. 

“Is that all then?  The President and I have some more catching up to do,” he drawls, trying not to smirk at their quickly concealed outrage.  In the way “don’t ask, don’t tell” had once ruled the US Marines, the President and the General have made it clear casual homophobia can kill a career in the Monroe Republic.  Bass likes to call it payback, but it has a practical purpose too, not having to worry about the rumours inevitably seeping from Independence Hall.

This thing with Charlie, though.  There’s no way they’ll be able to make that fly.

And just like that, he’s right back to drowning in the flood of memories.

By the time Bass had finished confessing his sins, Miles had been half-mad with lust, one hand locked around Bass’ throat, the other white-knuckled on the butt of his gun.  He’d never known he could be so creative with his weapon, using it to nudge open the buttons on Bass’ uniform trousers, then shove Bass’ underwear down to hook under his rampant cock.  It had looked obscene, jutting from that frame of military blue, and Miles had nearly come just from watching it quiver and pulse as Bass fought the urge to give into panic.

Patience, of course, is the mark of every good interrogator, and Miles prides himself on being better than most.

He’d let his eyes drive home just how naked and vulnerable Bass was, then almost idly dragged the barrel of his gun up and down the length of Bass’ cock.  Nudged at the damp little slit, smearing precome over the shiny black of the barrel, then sliding it underneath.

“I should blow your balls off,” he remembers saying, and “shame it isn’t a shotgun.”

For a minute, he thought Bass might have stopped breathing, until that gloriously muscled chest vibrated with a breath so long and laboured that he found himself relaxing the grip on Bass’ throat.  Something more than their usual games, for sure, but he hadn’t actually been trying to kill the guy.  Just scare him a little.

And that’s very familiar territory indeed, the source of some of his most erotic memories.  But they’d crossed the rubicon in that moment, the stakes so much higher as Bass launched into a flood of new confessions about how he would watch Charlie in her bath and had been unable to hide how much she aroused him.  How he’d let her see him once, relieving the ache.

Miles had reached for the lube.  “Anything more you want to tell me, Bass?”

The silken rasp gave way to garbled apologies and fervent promises as Miles ostentatiously slicked the barrel of the gun.  Bass was keening, pushing his hips high in demand, trying to open himself up with dry fingers in his need to be fucked.  Miles pushed his hands away, and circled the hungry little hole once, twice, ignoring its desperate flare until more confessions tumbled out.

“She begged me to, Miles.  I tried not to, but … she tastes like sunshine!”

Miles angled the barrel just enough to tease Bass with the sensation of penetration – but didn’t let himself follow through.  “Keep going.”

“I was so hard, Miles, after remembering all those things.  Seeing how they affected her – God.  She was rubbing her thighs together, practically chewing her lip bloody.  We both needed to deal with that, and I knew if I stayed … so I went down to the creek for a minute. Five at the most – three quick jerks was all I fucking needed, you know?  But when I came back …”  his voice had faded away, lost in memory.

“She offered me a strawberry, Miles.  I didn’t even think--”

He’d taken it straight from her fingers, he’d explained, the juice running over his chin as he bit down.  It wasn’t until he licked his lips that the unique tang had registered, and the possibility of restraint vanished.  He’d grabbed her fingers and licked every inch of her hand chasing her addictive flavour.  Licked his way up her arm and pushed up her t-shirt to suck and bite on her nipples until they were the same dark red as the fruit she’d offered him.  Slid his hand under her skirt, knowing he’d find her bare.

“I wonder if you taste like strawberries down here?” he’d asked, and she’d laid back and spread her knees wide in invitation. 

“Please,” she’d begged, and he couldn’t ignore her desperation, any more than he could her sweet, pink sex, still flushed and dripping from dragging that strawberry back and forth across her swollen clit until she came.

Bass had practically begged Miles to understand.  He’d never been able to say no to her, he’d pleaded, grinding down in a bid to push the barrel deeper into his ass. Miles _knew_ that, Bass moaned.

He had.  He always had, Miles had to acknowledge.  Bass was ruthless in battle, shrewd in the war room, as slippery as the next born politician, but he loved _hard_.  Was helpless before it, in fact, willing to do anything to keep his loved ones happy. 

And in this case, that had included succumbing to the sexuality of a girl who was barely more than a child. No matter what Charlie thought on the matter, it was wrong, Miles knows.  Immoral, and probably illegal, if anyone cared to cite the President of the Republic for flouting his own laws.  A full twelve hours later, he’s staring down the table at Bass, thinking he should be disgusted.  He should have backed away in horror.

But all he can think is ‘at least she’s not his niece’. 

Because he had made Bass tell him how she’d tangled her hands in his hair, and filled the little glade with frenzied curses she wasn’t supposed to know.  How she’d rubbed that sweet cunt all over his face, and bucked under his tongue, screaming.  How she’d come over and over again, begging him to put her out of her misery.  To _fuck_ her, goddammit.

And all Miles can do is growl with lust when he remembers Bass throwing his head back and forth, mewling, sobbing out the rest of the story. 

“Please, Miles, please,” he’d moaned, sounding so wrecked that Miles couldn’t help himself, twisting his wrist to make Bass’ whole body fly off the sofa in one long arch.  A taste of Bass’ own medicine, since he couldn’t retreat from there, not with the delicious sounds that had spilled from his lips. 

Not with Bass telling him how he’d resisted her, how she’d demanded his cock and he’d denied her, again and again, making her come three, maybe four times, fucking her with his tongue, but refusing to take her virginity.

“I told her I couldn’t!  Not without you!”

He hadn’t been able to help himself after that, easing the gun from Bass’ grasping channel more quickly than was probably safe, yanking his fly open with his other hand.  He’d grabbed Bass beneath the knees and hauled his ass higher, slamming balls deep in one long stroke, already losing it as Bass folded like a deckchair.  Fucked him furiously, through the shower of cum all over his chest, his hips jerking and shuddering for long minutes after his cock had emptied stream after stream into Bass’ shuddering body.

Nothing could compare to this, he remembers thinking.  No matter how sweet she tastes – I’ve got Bass.  We can wait.

He’d fallen asleep satisfied with that, hopeful.  But it takes just two minutes over breakfast to puncture his balloon.

Because the next person through the door is his precious niece, immaculately turned out in Militia Cadet blue.  She sidles to his end of the table, and promptly crawls into his lap, ignoring the stuffed shirts in the room.

“Uncle Bass promised to spar with me this morning,” she coos, one hand toying with the buttons on his chest.  “Will you join us? Maybe I’m ready to take you both at once.”  

There’s a shocked exclamation somewhere that doesn’t even rate a glance, and at the other end of the table Bass chokes on his bacon as Charlie looks at them both in turn, her hot gaze challenging them to acknowledge the innuendo.  It doesn’t matter what he says, though.  His cock has already told her exactly what she wants to know, and he’d hazard a guess Bass is equally hard.  They should lock themselves in their suite and fuck this madness out.

But this could be the closest he’ll get to fresh air and sunshine this week, so let the sparring commence.


	5. Sparring

Cadet Matheson has her glorious hair coiled neatly at the back of her head, her feet constantly on the move, and her jaw set with determination.  She’s all business as she weaves and parries with her sword, meeting every attack with lightning sharp reactions and pure Matheson focus.   Just as well Bass has taught her to never look away from an opponent – Miles wouldn’t want to insult Charlie with just how gobsmacked he is.

Bass knows, of course, beaming at him over her head as Charlie fights her way out of the corner even after being wrong footed.  Several of his letters had mentioned they’d been sparring regularly, but Miles isn’t even sure there are words for this.  The girl is a phenomenon – not as good as Miles yet, and probably not as good as Bass, but she _is_ sixteen.  Untried in battle. Not even finished her training as a militia cadet.

She was ready, Baker had said, and now Miles knows exactly what he meant.  Not just ready to join up, one more green recruit like vaguely useful putty ready to be shaped.  She ready to lead.  To truly serve.  To command.   

Fuck the promises he’d made Ben and Rachel: there were younger kids getting blown to pieces out there already, none of them as magnificent or deadly as Charlie.  It would be a crime to stop her from taking the brand. It’s not just that she’s good with a sword - and gun, and knife, even a crossbow, now that he thinks about it -  but that she’s smart.  Not booksmart, like Ben and Rachel and even Bass, but a logistical thinker.  Adapts faster and better than anyone he’s ever seen, just like –

Him, Miles has to admit.  She’s a general, just like him, and no matter what promises he made to her crazy mother and doting Dad, no matter what he said to Bass last night, they can’t wrap her up in cotton wool for good.  She’ll go crazy, just like he does if he has to spend too long out of the field.

She’s 17 in a month and he’s the goddamn general and she’s simply the best damn recruit he’s ever seen, so that’s that.  Baker will guard her with his life and teach her everything she needs to know, and probably learn a few things too.  He and Bass will cope.

And then she’ll come back, and she’ll be of age, and she’ll have a real choice to make.  A career in their Militia, or a life in their arms.  Maybe even a chance at both.

Either way, one thing was certain.

They were done sparring over whether or not Charlie was ready to be a soldier.

She already was. Anything else – even the idea of her as the Republic’s teenaged First Lady – seemed indefensible in comparison.

Charlie’s pained shout drags his attention back to the bout, sword in hand ready to slaughter the idiot who dared hurt her.  He finds Bass has pulled her backwards into his chest, her sword and both of her hands manacled behind her in one of his fists. Charlie twists and writhes and mutters curses in a dogged bid to escape, her body an arch of pure frustration as Bass neutralises her completely, pinching her throat in the bend of his elbow. Her blue eyes are flinty as she cedes the win, and drops her sword to the ground.

Miles kicks it away, then steps in close to deliver his lecture.

“First lesson of combat – don’t be reliant on your weapon,” he growls, staring down into her well-schooled face.  Good.  Don’t let ‘em see you submit. 

“Second lesson: be the weapon.”  He tries not to grin as Bass flexes his arm around her throat to drive the point home.  Her hands start to claw at her throat, and Miles wants to step forward and rip off Bass’ arm, but he knows she needs to learn the lesson – and Bass is only capable of mere seconds of this anyway.

He keeps it up a moment longer than Miles expects – always full of surprises – and Charlie gulps in air fervently when the pressure lifts.  She’d abandoned her jacket over the back of a chair early in the bout, and the standard issue t-shirt underneath is soaked with sweat and clinging to her hot skin.   They were supposed cool and easy to move in, Miles stares, but not alluring.  Never alluring, he grinds his teeth, but it doesn’t matter – the arch of her back throws her tempting breasts almost into his face, and those delicious mounds still swell above the neckline with every deep breath, and neither he nor Bass can drag their gaze away from the sight.  And then she takes note of their rapt gaze, awareness shuddering across her skin, her need to escape instantly forgotten. 

She sags back into Bass, and Miles finds himself following her forward, unable to relinquish the heat of her, just inches away, or the mesmerising reactions of her body.  He drinks in the flush working its way up the side of her neck, his fascination bringing his mouth unexpectedly close to her skin, hot breath bathing that glorious flush, her reaction so immediate and visible that he can’t help but do it again, and again.  She arches up frantically when he moves his hot breath over that enticing cleavage, and starts to squirm when he focuses on one, fast-peaking nipple at a time, so close that all he’d have to do would be purse his lips to be touching her.  Violating her, he reminds himself, but it’s a weak protest when she’s squirming with arousal, twisting and straining in a bid to reach his lips, little whimpers escaping from her mouth.

“Fuck.  Miles …” Bass groans, begging, and just like Bass could never say no to Charlie, Miles knows exactly where to find his Achilles heel.  Right there, huge blue eyes aching with the need to pleasure her, cock undoubtedly as hard is his.  The arm locked around her neck his slipped down, hovering over her chest now, but he asks, and waits.  That type of obedience deserves a reward, surely? And Charlie?  Isn’t she just begging to give it?

Miles nods, and Bass slides his arm lower, dragging it slowly over those recalcitrant nipples, abrading them with the most casual of touches, maddeningly slow, back and forth, back and forth.  Charlie undulates with its passage, her head falling back onto Bass’ shoulder, her gaze shuttering as sensuality swallows her whole, but still managing to stay fixed on him.

I _want_ , those eyes say.  Uncle Miles, I _need_.  Touch me.

His conscience struggles to make one last objection – she’s one of your soldiers, now! – but it’s too late.  He’s slamming shut the cage of their bodies, his hips locking tight to hers, his hands reaching round to tangle in Bass’ curls.  He brings their mouths together, a long, wet kiss over her head, and feels her hips buck into his, her hands raking down his back as he and Bass kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

“You like that, little slut?” Miles murmurs when his tongue is his own again. 

Charlie nods, frantic, and the growl in his throat promises something dangerous.  His hands fall to her hips, and slide into the gap between pants and shirt as Bass bites kisses into her neck, savage and hungry.  They both are, crushing her between them as their cocks swell in counterpoint against her belly and back, desperate to be united once more in the welcome of her body.

They’re filth, Miles agonises.  She’s a child, and they’ve known her since babyhood, and he doesn’t have any faith in himself to stop this from happening, so he might as well use their fucking depravity to teach her a thing or two.  Prepare her for the other types of filth she’ll encounter out there.

“What if we were your enemies, and we caught you bathing or something?  There’s two of us, and we’re bigger and stronger than you.  How are you going escape?”

Her jagged laugh is edged with something raw. “Assuming I want to escape you.”

“You’re a gorgeous young girl, alone, and we’re the scariest bastards you’ve ever met.  Odds are, we’re gonna want something you don’t want to give,” he cautions, tugging crudely at her uniform to make his point.  “Maybe we’re just looking for ten minutes of fun.  Or maybe we’re meaner than that.”  He grips the curve of her waist with cruel fingers, and fills his mind with vile things designed to make his cock less interested in proceedings.

It doesn’t work. 

Visions of pushing her to the ground and taking what he wants should sicken him, but the rich stink of her arousal is too heady to ignore.  “We’ll strip you naked.  Fuck you till you’re sore.  Come all over your pretty tits,” he chokes out, desperate for her to stop him.

“Right here?” she asks, and he wants that to be horror, goddammit, but it’s not.  It’s not, and she’s quivering between them, squirming and panting, and … Bass has his hand down the back of her pants.  Fingerfucking her.

“No!  Not here,” Miles growls, reaching down to yank Bass’ hands away.  Almost  hyperventilating at the smell that rises from those mischievous digits, and the challenge in Bass’ eyes as he runs a sex-drenched fingertip across Miles’ lower lip, daring him not to chase the slippery trail with his tongue.

Charlie watches them both avidly, biting her lip when Miles finally succumbs, sucking his lip into his mouth to savour every last molecule, eyes slamming shut at the onslaught of sensual flavour. “Please, Uncle Miles,” she begs, the naked forcing black eyes open to focus on her once more.

“If I was a good man, you calling me that would put a stop to this madness right there,” he hisses, the torment in his voice hidden from no one.   “But fuck do I love hearing you say it.  Begging me.”

He presses closer, crushing her between them, burying his face in her hair, forehead inclined into Bass.  “But we’re not doing this here.  Parading our fucking sins for the whole world to see.  In this room, you’re one of my fucking soldiers.  So here’s what’s going to happen.”

It takes an old-fashioned knee to the nuts, a break fall and a particularly vicious leg sweep to achieve it in the end, but she does manage to fight her way clear of them both.   Not easily, and no one’s kidding themselves she could have done it for real, but it’s a start, Miles has to admit.  He shakes her hand, congratulates her, and vows she’ll be able to do it for real before she leaves with Baker.

“So?”

It’s easier to meet her eyes, this time.  Soldier to soldier.

“You’re good enough to ship out with Baker’s crew next week.  What we do between now and then – well, that’s up to you.”

Miles catches Bass’ astonishment out of the corner of his eye, so gobsmacked it makes him wince. Sorry, brother.  Should probably have run that one by you first.  Especially after all that talk last night.  But I didn’t know, then.  Didn’t know who she was, or who she could be. 

Now, though …

“If you still want this … come to us tonight.”


	6. Lust

They watch each other through every bite of dinner, prime beef and roast vegetables no match for the things simmering under the surface.  Lust, yes, and plenty of it, but that’s not the only thing propelling them down this dark path.  It’s not even the most interesting one.

Miles has long been suspicious of Charlie’s attachment to them, wondering if her preference for the company of two aging warlords over pretty much anyone else was symptomatic of something the adults in her life had managed to fuck up.  They’d done their best to introduce her to anyone even vaguely interesting passing through Philadelphia – artists and scientists and historians and actors and musicians – and pulled strings to ensure she had a social circle of officer’s kids around her own age to get to know.

As far as Miles knew, there had only been one other person Charlie had ever gone out of her way to spend time with, a bounty hunter who the girl had idolised from the get go.  Miles couldn’t blame her – Nora Clayton had been good with a sword, amazing with dynamite, and incredible in the sack – but if he ever saw her again, he’d put a bullet in her himself.  Charlie had taken it hard when Nora had been unmasked as a Rebel, her fury masking genuine hurt. She’d insisted on commanding the firing squad, so there had been nothing to it but to organise Nora’s escape.  He couldn’t let Charlie do that to herself.   She would have offered her first real friend a blindfold with a perfectly level voice, and counted out the last seconds of Nora’s life without flinching.  Snapped fire, her own weapon levelled with the others, and forced herself to watch the woman fall.  He’s absolutely sure of that, and it was one of the first things that made him wonder.

He’d dismissed it as wishful thinking until this afternoon.  An attempt at rationalising an out-of-control attraction to the last person he should ever be attracted to.  But watching her fight, seeing her stubborn chin tilt at every challenge and bite down hard, it’s becoming increasingly obvious.  Their souls are alike – lions roaming in a world of domestic cats.  Too fierce and warlike for the rest of the world, more likely inspire dread and awe rather than the admiration she so richly deserved.  A perfect fit, he thinks fiercely.

Perhaps it’s a convenient logic to justify a pair of old men claiming a gorgeous young woman for their own, but it calls to him nonetheless.  She’s not the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen, won’t even be the most beautiful they’ve had in their bed, but no one has ever fired his blood the way she does.  Just sitting across the table from her, watching her ignore her food to listen to Neville’s report from the Plains, her tongue almost as sharp as her mind when she questions the slimy little prick on several dubious assumptions.  Then abandoning business altogether to lose herself in the sensual pleasure of dessert, eyes closing as she savours the mouthful of hot apple pie.  Bass leans forward to whisper in her ear, and the officers invited to share their table have to look away as the General’s niece practically crawls into the President’s lap to respond.

“Charlie,” Miles growls, every bit the disapproving uncle, even as his left hand buries itself deep in the warm cave they’ve created.  His fingers stroke Bass’ burgeoning cock as his knuckles nudge insistently at her clit, watching, watching as she bites her lip and starts to breathe harder.  Then he stops. “Get off,” he snaps, an order from General Matheson, and she snaps her response, that automatic “Yes, Sir!” even as she glowers at him through lust-clouded eyes, and threatens to make him pay.

Bass coughs and reaches for his water glass, taking a long swig to help regain his straight face.  “Gentlemen, Mrs Neville, Mrs Faber – the General and I have another pile of reports to go over tonight, so you’ll excuse us for retiring early.  Goodnight.”

Dismissed, their dinner companions evaporate, leaving the three of them sitting at the table, Charlie still in Bass’ lap.

“Reports, huh?”

“Funnily enough, I’m feeling pretty tired,” Bass husks, groaning as Charlie takes advantage of their solitude to drag her lips along the line of his jaw.  “The paperwork could probably wait until tomorrow.”

“Better head for bed, then.  What about you, Charlie? Early night?”  The pretence, he tells himself, is for the staff clearing the table.  Most are decent, clean-living people – no point rubbing it in their faces. The fact that it makes him twice as horny to play the fond uncle while he aches to fuck the girl is a mere side-benefit.

“Think I might borrow a book from your library.  Think you’ll have something in there for me?”

“Think we might manage that,” he growls back and … now.  This needs to start now.  “Give me a couple of hours. I’ll have a look for you after my bath.”

Her bright blue eyes darken to a hazy storm, and Miles feels the need to howl.  She knows their secret.

Had Bass told her during their picnic, or one of those nights he watched her take her own bath?  She’d always admired the blue-tiled room that lay between their bedrooms, and pouted over the fact that no one but Miles or Bass was allowed in there.  Had he simply caved to the pressure to explain why, or had it been something altogether more seductive – an invitation?  A promise?  Miles can practically hear Bass whispering, feel his breath playing over her ear as he details all the ways they would welcome her into their pit of debauchery, warm water and wide benches, whiskey an arm’s length away and lube even closer.

Maybe she’d be shy at first, sitting on the top step while they lolled below, watching how pink she flushes in the heat, admiring the sharp  jut of nipples just waiting to be sucked, waiting to nudge those pressed-close knees wide enough to let them feast.

“Uh, I wouldn’t want to interrupt…”

Time to cut the pretence.

“Yeah.  You would.  And we’d want you to.  Wouldn’t we, Bass?”

The President looks like a naughty schoolboy when he blushes and simply nods.  Miles stands up abruptly and tells the girls clearing the table to thank the cook.  “And let Marshall know that I don’t want to be disturbed in the morning.”  He knows they’ll decode that as meaning leave Bass the hell alone as well.  There will be no prying eyes tonight or tomorrow.

He plans to make the most of it.

*

Bass follows him upstairs, and they’re so goddamn horny they don’t even make it as far as their usual slow wind-down in the library.  They’re halfway up the stairs when Bass confesses he’d told her about the things they do in their bathroom, and Miles has to grab his hand and bring it to his straining cock.  “I figured.”

“Fuck.  You’re hard as iron,” Bass hisses, and pushes him up against the wall at the top of the stairs.  He almost forgets, kissing Bass, that there’s anyone else in the world – it’s always been that way, his mouth so wet and hungry that Miles wants to drown in him, everything else suddenly lesser, unimportant.  Bass could kiss him like this on the middle of a battlefield, and he’d drop his weapon and just kiss back, dazzled by the naked want that vibrates between them.

Would he forget Charlie?  Could he?

“Is this for me, or for her?” Bass murmurs in the same moment, and Miles is too lust drunk to even consider whether the truth is safe.

“Both.  I was wondering what you told her.  What you said we’d do – how we’d fuck her.”

Bass laughs into his mouth, scraping his teeth over Miles’ stubbled jaw.  “Didn’t say anything like that.  Just said we like to take our bath together sometimes.  How I like to hold the towel for you as well.”

“Did you get down on your knees and lick her dry, too?”

Bass groans at the memory.  “No.  All I did was hold a fucking towel and try not look.  But--”

“You wanted to?”

“I wanted you with me.  So we could dry her off together.  God, imagine --”

“Yeah, no.  Fucking in the corridor probably isn’t a good idea,” Miles groans, pushing Bass towards the double doors to their suite.  “Tell me in the bath.  Better still – show me.”

“Should we wait for Charlie?”

“Do you want to?”

Bass pauses, clearly torn.  He’s fallen for the girl, Miles knows that.  But they’ve been each other’s entire world since they were eight years old.  And had been refining the art of driving each other crazy since they were – fifteen, probably.  Maybe even before then.  He remembers –

“No.  One last time.  Just us.”

“You’re that sure she’ll come?” 

“Miles. It wasn’t just that she begged me to fuck her.  She said I could pretend, if I wanted to.  That you were there too.  Said she always did. Said she --”

“What?”

Bass looks up and down the hallway, then quickly tears open the buttons constricting Miles’ achingly hard cock.  He palms it slowly, then wraps his fist tight as he licks a burning path to Miles’ ear.  “She wants to watch us fuck.”

His restraint snaps, hips bucking up, desperate for more heat, more friction.  They’re just a few steps away from their rooms, but he needs Bass to suck him, now.  Fuck, he wants to bend him over, right there in the hall, and make him scream so hard that everyone comes running to see just how owned he is.  And then he’ll spread himself wide so Bass can own him right back.

“Please, Miles,” Bass begs in his ear, ripping himself away on a long moan.  The deathgrip on his hand tows Miles past the soldier standing guard at the entrance to their suite, through the library, past their study, and into the Presidential bedroom beyond. 

This will be the bed Charlie shares with Bass one day, Miles knows in his bones.  He waits for jealousy to kick in, but it never comes.  They’ll share his bed too, he’s sure of that.  And the bathroom, and the library, and every part of their lives. They’ll need some renovations, perhaps, so that Charlie can have a room of her own, and few more close by for once the children come. 

He can see the future stretching out before them, and it makes perfect sense like nothing has before, but first, first … he’s going to focus on the here and now.  The man on his back in this big, ridiculously fancy bed, moaning under his mouth every time lips find skin.  Shaking at the most fleeting touch, vibrating with the need to be his. 

“Bass,” he soothes, and the President arches his hips high, begging to be penetrated. “Bass,” he mumbles as he uses his tongue to trace the line of muscle veering down towards that thick, pink cock, and “Bass,” his entire body groans when his mouth is too full to speak.  He sucks until Bass is fucking his face relentlessly, his garbled curses and hot little moans so familiar that Miles knows exactly when to stop teasing his sensitive rim, and up the stakes with the press of his cock.  By the time Miles starts to pound, Bass is coming helplessly, long spurts of cum shooting up between them to decorate their bellies and chests and even their faces.

They’re making their way towards the bath, sticky with saliva and cum, when the knock comes.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This cliffhanger wasn't even intentional - the chapter as it was simply got too long. I promise the next chapter is hot on the heels of this one ... anyone not in my timezone will probably get them both at once!


	7. Abandon

“Come in,” Bass welcomes, at the same time Miles snaps “Enter!”

Charlie opens the door and stops short at the sight of them, eyes huge as she takes in their nakedness, the love bites purpling all over their bodies, their flaccid, well-used cocks.  “God – sorry.  I’ll come back later.”

One look at them, and she changes her mind?  Or maybe that had happened even before she made it to their suite – he’d been expecting that sheer white nightgown, Miles realises, or something even more enticing, but she’s still in the same dress and heels from dinner.  She hadn’t even bothered to change. Disappointment stabs him deep, but then he hears the ragged breath she drags in.  Looks at her face.

She’s chewing on her thumb, unable to look away, gaze so hungry that his poor, exhausted cock manages to twitch in response.  Fuck.  He’s pretty sure that’s not what indecision looks like. She’s a little overwhelmed, perhaps, but there’s nothing about her face that’s saying no. Maybe, hope flares, she just couldn’t wait.

“Stay.  If you want to,” he rasps, cursing himself for being unable to keep the raw lust out of his voice.  This had to be her choice.

Bass actually manages a smile that veers into a smirk when her eyes fix on his cock.  “We were just about to settle into the bath.  Wait for you in comfort.”

Neither of them miss her unsteady breath at that thought, and Miles wants to cheer when her stubborn little chin tilts up.  Good girl, he thinks as she walks further into the room, stopping a mere arms-length away.  Brave girl.

“So does this mean you’ll finally let me in there?” Charlie sasses, and if her voice isn’t completely steady, they’re too busy watching her fingers playing with the hem of her dress to call her on it. She bites her lip and then lets her gaze wander over their fast-responding bodies, as if drawing strength from the evidence of their desire. Then she lifts the scrap of silk high over her head and lets it pool on the ground at their feet.

He been so fucking wrong, Miles discovers.   She hadn’t come straight from dinner because she’s not wearing a stitch of underwear, and that sweet little nest of brown curls is so slick and fragrant she had to have stopped off somewhere along the way.   It’s all he can do not to lunge at her, to fall on his knees and hunt down every last drop of the orgasm she’s clearly helped herself to in their absence.

But she’s already walking away, tight little ass swaying like a wet dream as she leads them towards the bath in nothing but a pair of strappy high heels. 

“Fuck,” Bass breathes, and Miles can only moan his agreement. 

She’s sitting on a stool unbuckling her shoes by the time they make it through the door, Miles locking it behind him to ensure their privacy.   They won’t be fucking her in here, he tells himself sternly.  She deserves a bed for her first time.  But …

Bass drops to one knee to help with the little straps, but his shoulders inevitably nudge their way in between her knees.  Miles witnesses the exact moment a puff of hot breath plays over her wet pussy, Charlie’s entire body shuddering as she drops her head back in wanton surrender.

His possessive growl makes all three of them jump.

“Get those fucking shoes off and get over here,” Miles grits out as he steps down into the bath, plunging deep into the central pool.

Bass raises an eyebrow at the flash of temper but does as he’s told.  Just as well he’s so fucking obedient, Miles fumes, groping desperately for the calm he usually finds in this place.  The last thing he wants is to be jealous of Bass, but every spiteful thing in him is chorusing how he’s already tasted her, he’s already made her come, and surely this one, this time … he turns his back to them, sure the ugly jealousy is stamped on his face.  He only starts to breathe again when the splash of Bass plunging in is followed by a quiet groan of delight as Charlie steps down into the warm water.

She only stops for a moment on that first step, and doesn’t position herself demurely on the edge with her knees just begging to be eased apart, the way she did in his fantasy.  Their girl is no untouchable doll on display high a window.  She’s Charlie Matheson, so she follows them straight into the deep, diving, then surfacing directly behind him in a swirl of long, wet hair and water-sluiced skin.

“Uncle Miles?” she asks, fingertips skirting over his shoulders as if unsure of where to land. 

He turns, and holds her away from him.  “What are you here for, Charlie?”

She flushes, then tips her chin up and brings one hand up to tangle in the wiry curls on his chest.  “You,” she confesses.  “And Bass.  Together.  And – with me,” she says, halting but sure.

“You sure you know what that means?  It’s not just Charlie gets to play first lady, you know.  It’s you chaining yourself to two old men.  Who like to do freaky shit to each other and will want to do freaky shit with you.”

“I’m not sure what that entails exactly, but if you’re asking do I want to have sex with you – have sex with both of you, the answer is yes,” she stresses. “Yes, _please_ , in fact.”

The dark part of him thrills to just how intuitive she is; she might not know the difference between a Dom and a Sub yet, but she’s slid almost instinctively into their lifelong game.  The protective part of him, however, is screaming at her to get out now, while she still can.

“Both of us, huh? You think you’re going to play the voyeur while I fuck him and then one of us will beg to help you get you off? Or do you think maybe we’ll take turns?  Not how it works, kid,” he sneers, desperate to make the point.  “You’re gonna have my cock in your pussy and Bass in your ass, and that’s before we bring any of our toys into play.”

There’s shock in her eyes, but not enough.  Time for an even more unpalatable truth. “Then there’ll be the days where we just want each other, and if you’re lucky, I’ll let you suck his cock while I fuck him.  Maybe he’ll turn you over and fuck you, or maybe he’ll just shoot all over those pretty tits because he loves my cock so much,” Miles snarls.

Then he makes the mistake of glancing at Bass.

His lover has slumped down to the first ledge, and is watching him with undisguised shock, obviously disturbed at just how vicious he’s become with their beloved Charlie.  His cock, though – his cock is standing at full mast, swollen balls visible just below the lapping water, and his entire, impressive length rearing above.  His finely cut helmet is shiny with precome, and one hand is grasping his base, as if willing it not to explode.

“Isn’t that right, Bass?” he grits, ready to beat his chest and bellow “mine!!!”

“Yeah, Miles.  I do.  I _do_ love your cock,” Bass pants.  “But Charlie –“

“She’s got to learn how things are going to be. Make an informed fucking decision.”

Bass can’t help but snort at the double entendre, but his face gentles quickly.  “Like either of us would force her to do anything she didn’t want to do.  Like she isn’t your whole fucking world, just like she is mine.”

Miles scoffs and is about to launch back into his tirade when Charlie interrupts him.

“So teach me, then.”

“What?”

“How things are going to be.  What to do.”  She slides her hand down through the fur on his chest to trace the lines of his abs before colliding shyly with his now achingly hard cock. Her fingers are clumsy at first, exploring for a moment before Charlie her fist around him in a close approximation of Bass’ grip on himself.  “What I’ll need to know.”

Miles bucks into her fist and groans when she loosens a little to let him slide through.  “That’s better with lube.”

“What’s that?”

Miles swipes his fingers between her legs and brings the sticky concoction up to her face.  “An attempt to reproduce this.  Never tastes as good, though,” he says, grinning at the way her stroke stutters as he licks his fingers clean.

“Does that mean you’re done?”

“What?”

“Your little lecture?”

He stares at her, dumbstruck, then laughs.  “Take no prisoners, huh?  Okay then. Full surrender.  Name your terms.”

She licks her lips and suddenly his joking surrender isn’t quite as funny.  She’s probably never heard of some of the darker games they like to play, but he’s got a sneaking suspicion little Charlie is a natural Dom.  He holds his breath and waits to see what she has to say.

“Go sit down next to Bass.”

His cock jerks in her hand at the snap in the order, making her eyes widen with surprise.  Miles swallows the tortured curse – she has no idea what she’s doing to him – and does as he’s told.  Bass shoots a panicked glance at Miles and tightens the stranglehold on his cock, clearly edging on desperate, and Miles wonders if he should say something, or just wait for the next order.   Then he realises she probably doesn’t know how much fun it could be to punish him, and that he’s going to have to guide her.

An uncle’s duty, perhaps.

“He told you what happened, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“He said he couldn’t … fuck me. Because he belonged to you,  That you had to …”

“Give my permission.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how it works between some people.  Bass likes to give me power over him.”

“And it’s not just … in the bedroom?  It’s all the time.  Even with … other people?”

Bass knows he’s not being spoken to, but interrupts anyway.  “It’s how our relationship works, Charlie.  It’s just a part of how we love each other – a gift we give each other.”

Miles wants to purr at the words, but can’t ignore the lesson that has dropped into his lap.  “I’ll have to punish him for that, later.  He should have asked permission.  Maybe I’ll make him suck my cock until his knees hurt.  Or maybe …” he pauses, wondering if he should go there yet.  Maybe he should ease into it. Or keep her out of it altogether.  

“Maybe what?”

“You could do it.  Slide over his cock until he’s begging for you.  Or tie him to the bed and fuck him with your riding crop.”

She blinks at that and he knows he’s punctured one more hole in her innocence.  Too bad he’s done hating himself for it.

“What about you?”

“Huh?”

“Who punishes you?”

He can’t mobilise any sound at all after that, and Charlie’s smirk tells him she knows just how hard she’s hit the jackpot.  She glides closer until she’s got one knee on the ledge in the tiny gap between them, and the other searching for footing between Bass’ legs.

“Careful.  He’s about a blow a gasket,” Miles advises, glad of the chance to think about something – anything – other than handing Charlie power over them both.

“Looks painful,” she offers, and drifts a shy hand over the line of Bass’ hip. “Can I --?”

Miles tries not to let his disappointment show, but Charlie has been able to read his tells since she was a little kid.

“Uh – Bass needs to be punished.  And I’m going to do it,” she pronounces hurriedly.

Bass looks up into her face as if he’s blinded by the sun.  “Yes, mistress.  Anything you say,” he says fervently, then has to swallow a string of curses when she drops herself in squarely in his lap. She immediately pushes herself backwards, sliding over Bass’ straining cock with a wet squelch that sets Miles’ own cock to throbbing.

She’d been listening, alright, he exults as he watches Bass bite down on his lip to keep from crying out as his purple tip disappears into her folds, then reappears, then disappears again.  He loses his ability to string words together by her third pass, and when she scratches her fingernails down his chest, scoring over his flat, male nipples, he loses it completely, hips bucking with his need to be inside her.

Miles can’t have that.

“Don’t give him what he wants, Charlie.  Back and forth.  That’s it.  Good girl.  He wants you so bad.”

His instructions drag Charlie out of her sensual stupor.  She glares at him, and draws herself up, indignant.  “Fuck off, Uncle Miles.  In fact-“

She slides sideways, her sudden absence making Bass cry out in frustration.  “Suck him.  Until he comes in your mouth.”

Miles has never bowed his head to anyone.  If you’d asked, he would said he just didn’t have it in him.  Even when he lets Bass take control – he’s the one in charge.

Until now. 

He prostrates himself over Bass, licking and sucking and sliding one hand behind to fondle his balls, his own arousal skyrocketing at the feel of the thick column in his mouth, the musky taste of the approaching orgasm.  The sight of her, curled under Bass’ arm, her gaze hot and avid as she watches Miles suck cock so enthusiastically.   When Bass comes, he swallows as much as he can, then chases down the overflow dribbling from one corner of his lips with an appreciative tongue.

When Charlie gasps at the sight, he winks.  “Thank you, mistress.”

She recovers quickly, considering him with a cool eye that would do her credit on the battlefield, then slides herself on top of Bass, head under his chin and backside nestling into his abdomen, legs tucked neatly between his.

“Keep going. By the time you’ve made me come, Bass might be ready to fuck me.” 

Hell to the no, he remembers thinking, but it’s probably less possessive bullshit and more his agonised cock talking, because she’s lifting he knees up and over Bass’, spreading herself wide and the juxtaposition of sweet pink cunt and well-loved cock might just be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.  Bass groans whenever he breathes near his over-sensitive cock, but by the time Miles has teased Charlie’s clit into a swollen gem and traced every inch of her fluttering folds with his tongue, he’s able to slide a little lower each time, a stray lick over the head of his cock here, a sly stripe up its length there.

They’re all begging by the time Miles loses his patience and clamps his arms under Charlie’s butt, holding her tight to his mouth as he fucks her with sharp thrusts of his tongue.  She surrenders to her climax with a full-body shudder and a fluttery, broken wail, Miles groaning into her sex and sucking furiously as she floods his mouth.   Bass can have his strawberries, he exults.  For Miles, she’s the sweet tang of spring water, and the sharp bite of command, and sweetest, hottest, most golden rays of summertime sunshine.

“Please, Miles!” she gasps before her eyes roll back, and he’s her fucking slave, so far gone that he’s quivering with anticipation as he lifts her up to lower her down on Bass’ cock.  They try for gradual but gravity – and her arousal - conspire against them, Charlie pushing their hands away to impale herself in one long exhalation of astonished delight.  

Her eyes fly open and there, in those blue depths, he can see their future, and their truth.  It doesn’t matter who she is, or who he is.  It doesn’t matter who is inside her, and who isn’t.  Her pleasure is his pleasure is Bass’ pleasure and as she rocks, gently, full of awe, he kisses her, their souls tangling together as intimately as their tongues.  

And just like that, without a single finger on his cock, he comes, jerking and shaking his way towards an abandon he’s never felt before.  Hers to command.  His to adore.  Theirs to rule.

Finally free.


	8. Our Truth

He wakes, warm and satisfied.  The truth of them singing in his blood, pounded into his bones.  Charlie sleeps between them, as she promised she would, and Bass’ feet tangle with his to complete their circle.

Today, he thinks, and smiles.

General Matheson the second had been a week late in returning from Georgia, the negotiations to demilitarise the border turning into trade talks, and then what sounded a lot like a hen party.  “Whiskey and strippers,” Charlie had grinned, and Miles knew Kelly Foster well enough to believe the tale.

“Pretty?” he’d asked, and Charlie’s bright grin had testified to the fact.  One day, they’ll have some fun with that, but right now …

Coffee, and toast.  Charlie insists she doesn’t need anyone to help her, but he took Foster up on her offer of a stylist anyway, and he’s not ready for the girl to find them in bed.  There will be plenty of years for outrageous gossip yet.

Their eldest child, conveniently enough, looks just like Rachel, and the second one is a towhead the image of Charlie.  Sooner or later, one of their babies will be suspiciously dark, and the old rumours about him and Bass will be eclipsed by the scandal.  Charlie has resisted for years, preferring to run the Militia while Bass and Miles split the affairs of state between them, but they have the family to think about now.

Better waltz down that aisle before she has to waddle, Miles had pointed out, and she’d swatted him over the head with Danny’s stuffed sword, before plonking Cynthia in his arms as she stalked out.  Two hours of sparring later had left Bass breathing hard, Miles viciously horny, and Charlie ready to set a date.

Today.

An official First Lady for the Monroe Republic.  Her name, no longer just his.   Their lover, who refused to wear white, but would allow the hairdresser to weave baby’s breath into a corona of hair atop her dress blues.

He grins, thinking of her face when he unveils their wedding gift.  Her stationery, the seal, a new flag.  The same old insignia that had honoured their bond from the start.

Matheson-Monroe. The continent’s newest Republic.  At peace with all its neighbours and the Rebels to boot.

Our legacy, Miles thinks.  Our family.

Our truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, folks! The 60 Moods of Summer prompt table can be found under the "Challenges" tab at The Orgy Armada on tumblr; we'd love to see you swing by and write a ficlet or sixty with us!


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